Chapter 7
Detective Trey Stone shook his head at me. “Another murder in Willowmere. I should have known I’d find you close by.”
“Technically, I think you’ll find that this dead body belongs to Cannon Hill. At least that’s where the chest was put onto the delivery van.” I shivered.
“Cannon Hill?” He motioned to the crime scene team who’d come together with him, accompanied by Ange’s husband. Nick was fast becoming used to being called in by the police, since he’d passed his medical examiner qualification last year, in addition to being one of the three town doctors.
Nick had confirmed that the victim really was dead, and whatever else he’d been called for, and the body was already on the way again. So was Nick.
Ange was still at Bert’s Antiques' Barn with me. She’d taken the shocked Bert to his office. In his line of work, he came across unpleasant odors, blood and other stains, and the occasional dead mouse, bat, or raccoon. A murdered man was a first for him.
I wish I could say the same for Ange and me.
The detective was right; unnatural death made an appearance in Willowmere too often these days.
But at least for once, this one had nothing to do with me, or my role as secret guardian of our community.
The case belonged to the police in the city, and I wished them all the best with it.
Detective Stone silently read through the notes he’d written down while talking to me. “But this chest belongs to you?”
“No. I agreed with the buyer that I’d restore it and the other things –” I vaguely swept my hand in the general area. “We’d visited the antiques’ fair on Friday night and Saturday. I said to have everything sent here after the fair ended. The delivery also included objects that Ange Gale bought.”
“And the owner is?”
“Candice Schott. She’s engaged to my ex-husband.”
I’d never seen Trey Stone lost for words before. He was now.
I felt defensive. “It’s not that unusual. We’re on good terms, and I’ve helped her and my ex out before. She used to be our assistant.”
“That’s nice. I wish more folks had your attitude towards their exes.” He attempted a chuckle. It didn’t work.
Like myself, the detective was recently divorced. Unlike me, he was already dating again. He and my old high school friend, Louisa, a successful lawyer, were now “official”.
I hoped his unsuccessful chuckle meant that his ex-wife was the one with the bad attitude. Louisa deserved to be with the right guy.
“Can you give me her address?” he asked.
I gave him Rick’s details. “She’ll still be in Cannon Hill, I think. She’s got an assignment there. The delivery company should be able to give you her address. Or you can try this phone number.”
After searching through my contacts, I found it. The detective wrote it down. “Thanks.”
“If you have more questions, you know where to find me.” I turned to go to the office.
“One last thing.”
I stopped. “Yes?”
“It’s a long shot, but do you have any idea who’d want to kill Timothy Boyd?”
My skin prickled. “Who?”
“He lives – lived in one of the new houses at the edge of town.”
“No idea, sorry.”
I forced myself to retreat at a normal speed. Just because I’d seen Candice and the victim in a tense situation didn’t have to mean anything.
My phone stayed silent until close to noon the next day, which I took as a good sign.
Like me, Ange had bounced back from the grisly discovery and now ran her yoga class for the age-group of 50 plus in the library.
I watched from afar, while I took the returns cart around and put the books back into circulation.
I balanced on a sturdy stepping stool to slide an Agatha Christie mystery into its accustomed slot when the buzzing started.
Since my phone was next to my computer, whoever messaged me, had to wait a few seconds.
The buzzing stopped, only to start again.
And again. I almost fell off the stool in my haste to reach my phone.
Cosmo sat next to it. His tail thumped the desk.
I scanned the screen. “It’s Rick. And Candice. And Rick again, twice.”
I opened the first message.
“Can we talk? Please? We’re in trouble. Rick”
The second message sent a spill down my spine.
“Sorry to bother you, but I don’t know who else to turn to. The police think I’m a murderer. C”
“Impossible.” I must have said it aloud, because Ange snapped out of her warrior pose, gave me one good look, and abandoned her group.
“What’s up?” she asked.
I pointed at the screen.
She gaped. “Holy guacamole. What does Rick have to say?”
“I haven’t opened the other messages yet.” My chest tightened.
The yoga ladies came closer, either driven by genuine concern or, more likely, curiosity.
Ange waved them off. “Why don’t you finish the lesson with your meditation?” That said, she pressed the phone into my hand. “Do it now. Who knows, maybe it was all a misunderstanding and he’s calling off the dogs, or in this case, you.”
“I wish.” I scanned the two remaining messages. They were short, identical, and devoid of information. All I read was,
“Please help her, Bex.”
“We can’t very well say no,” Ange mused.
“We?”
“Sweetheart, this isn’t a situation you want to handle on your own. I’m coming with you.”
Cosmo thumped his tail again, indicating that he planned on joining us too.
“But what about the library?” I protested.
“Close it for a family emergency, or ask Reina to fill in for today, or there’s always Ms. Vine.”
Cosmo’s blink indicated his preference.
“Do you know a quiet café in Cannon Hill?” I asked Ange.
“Tea and Tarts? They’re established but not trendy.”
“Good.”
I texted Candice back, asking her to meet me at Tea and Tarts in three hours. The drive only took up half the time, but I had to take care of my own business first.
Ange ushered her yoga ladies out and promised to pick me up for our trip to Cannon Hill.
I left Cosmo napping while I headed out to visit Ms. Vine. She lived in a white wooden A-frame building from the 1940s, with a pistachio-colored front door and window shutters. Large terracotta urns with pansies flanked the front step.
Ms. Vine opened the door so fast, I almost stumbled inside. “Bex? What a surprise.”
I followed her into a large room with an artificial fire in the fireplace. Bookshelves lined the wall, and a half-finished jigsaw puzzle covered a table.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the pit of my stomach where my witchy intuition would hopefully give me signs. I opened my eyes again. “I need to leave town and was wondering if you’d take over the library again.”
“For how long?”
“Hopefully only this afternoon, but I can’t be sure.” The warm tingling in my stomach told me to trust her. “I might also need other favors, if you are what I think you are.”
“Which is?” Her lips twitched.
“Something similar to what my aunt was?”
“What your aunt was, or what you are?”
I nodded, wordlessly.
“I’m not a witch, if that’s what you’re trying to ask. Something similar does describe my situation a lot better. As for favors, it depends on what’s going on.”
“We had another murder.”
She gasped. “Not again.”
I gave her the gist of it.
“That’s terrible,” she said. “Of course I’ll take care of the library, and I’ll also have a think if there is anything I can contribute.”
“I still don’t know what that is, or what you are.”
“This is not the time to go into long explanations, if you want to go to Cannon Hill.” She nudged me towards the door. “Just think of me as a conduit. And now, my dear, go and sort out this latest mess.”